Lost and Found
by AINLWTBAW
Summary: Arcade often wondered what kind of person his father was. The Remnants spoke well of him, said he was a great man, a good man. However, Arcade would never know for himself; Israel Markus 'Mark' Gannon never came back from his last mission, as he'd been killed in action. That's what he'd been told anyway.


It was a rather quiet night in Freeside, one just like any other.

That is to say it was in its usual state of chaos. Gunshots rang out in the distance, drunkards stumbled among the tattered buildings to pick fights with whoever crossed their path, and addicts loudly haggled for their fixes; to most it was merely just another night. It really was a regular evening for the residents of Freeside.

One of said residents sat in an out-of-the-way tent at the back of the Old Mormon Fort. Book in hand as he laid in his cot, he was suddenly disturbed by a ruckus outside. Setting his book down and getting up, he peeked out the flaps of his tent.

"Julie?" He called out, "What's going on?"

The mohawked woman shook her head at the situation and sighed, "A tourist was getting a bit rowdy with April."

"The older man arguing with him now stepped in before the guards could." She pointed to the men in front of them. "Apparently he took offense at the disrespect on her part."

Arcade's eyes steered onto the two. To say the men were arguing would be inaccurate. It was more of a one-side verbal ass beating. The older man was viciously berating the younger man and didn't look like he'd be letting the other get a word in edgewise any time soon. The younger man flinched with every other word spoken, trying but failing to interrupt the elder man's scolding.

"Were you raised by animals, boy? I ask because you sure act like it! Treating anyone like that, you have to be a two-bit baboon! You're certainly grabby enough to fit right in with a troop of monkeys! Hell, I'd even say you look like one too!" The old man yelled.

Quite a picture he made, that old man, and an intimidating one at that. Bone white hair cut short, face pulled into a scowl, a single steel blue eye glaring imperiously down on the subject of his ire -the other covered by a patch, jaw tinted with stubble, various scars cutting across his face; whoever he was, he'd obviously gone through his own share of rough times.

"Do you need patching up, boy?" The rough-looking man asked suddenly.

The other man scrambled to answer, "Er... ah... I came here for-"

"I didn't ask what you came here for, boy!" The old man growled, "I asked if you had any injuries that need to be looked at!"

"I... I don't! No!"

"So you're here to pester the poor doctors then?"

"No! Just-"

"'Just' what? Just to make a nuisance of yourself? If that was your goal; congratulations! You've achieved it! You ignoramus! They've got more than enough on their plates without you adding to it!"

"I was just flirtin' with 'er!"

"'Flirting with her?' 'Flirting,' my pale ass! That wasn't any sort of flirting I've ever seen or heard in my life!"

The grizzled elder grabbed the younger man by the collar of his shirt and gave him a rough jerk. "What on earth makes you think groping someone like that is 'flirting'? Because I can tell you right now that it's not!"

The tourist put his hands up in defense, afraid the other man would get even more physical. "Alright! Alright! I get it! I'm sorry!"

"I don't think you do," the old man huffed, but let him go. "And I'm not the one you should be apologizing to, the young lady you were harassing is."

The young man looked to April and hesitated.

"Well! What are you waiting for? An invitation?"

The man flinched and fumbled over himself as he turned fully to apologize to the woman. Credit to her, she took his ramblings with a professional grace and no ill will.

"Just don't do it again. And, for future reference, keep your hands to yourself."

Nodding hurriedly, the tourist spun towards the entrance doors only to freeze as the old man caught his eye.

"What are you looking at me for, boy? I'm not keeping you here." He gave a swift nod to the doors of the fort. "Scram."

Nearly tripping over himself, the young man practically sprinted to get as far away from the place as he possible could. A quiet calm was left behind in his wake.

With disregard to the silence, the old man addressed April, checking in with her and making sure she was actually alright. Arcade glanced back to Julie as they continued to talk between each other. Now that April was safe and the excitement of the night was done and over with, he could go back to his reading without worry.

He told Julie as much.

"Try not to stay up too late again, Arcade."

"I'll try, but no promises." He was joking, of course.

Julie rolled her eyes. "If not that, then at least try to get some sleep."

"That I can do."

"Thank you."

With that, Arcade returned to his bed and book. He relaxed, allowing himself the small comfort they brought. The familiar text in his book drowned out the rest of the noise from the fort. The peace didn't last long though, because Julie popped her head into his tent. She stepped in completely as he sat up with his lips pursed.

The shorter doctor gave him a concerned look.

"What's wrong?" He prompted, irritation at being disturbed again fading away.

"Nothing's wrong... just... you said your dad died when you were young, right?"

Arcade frowned at the question with a curious tilt of his head. "I did."

It was one of the few things the majority of his coworkers knew about him. After all, it was near impossible to keep all his secrets when he lived in such close quarters with so many people. It was the hazard of living with his peers, he supposed.

"Why?" 'Bring it up' was left unsaid.

"What was his name?"

"Mark Gannon, Julie-"

"The man was asking after you, Arcade. I wanted to check with you before I said anything."

It was an unspoken rule among them and the rest of the Folllowers; always ask the person being searched for before giving out information. Victims of abuse were not uncommon to see in their tents and the abusers of said people often weren't far behind. They would do anything they could to keep those types away from the others as long as possible.

Arcade's back went ramrod straight. "The man? The one that defended April? What did he say?"

"He introduced himself as Israel Gannon, and ask us if we knew an 'Arcade with his surname'."

"Say that again?"

"Say what agai-"

"His name."

"Israel Gannon."

Arcade let out a heavy breath as he ran a hand through his hair. His other hand covered his mouth in disbelief.

"Arcade?" Julie questioned hesitantly.

It took him a few moments to answer. "My father preferred to use the shortened version of his middle name, 'Markus', but his first name was 'Israel'. It's where my own middle name comes from."

A beat of awkward silence passed before Julie gave a soft sigh. "I won't make you go out there, Arcade. The choice is ultimately yours."

"Though, you've said before that you never got the chance to know your dad, he died when you were an infant," she continued, "If this guy really is your father and he survived whatever it is that happened somehow, then don't you think it'd be worth it to at least find out what happened to keep him out of your life until now?"

"That's what I think anyway," she finished.

Arcade bit his lip, fighting the kneejerk reaction to stamp out the hope building in his chest. Julie was right somewhat. He should hear the man out at the very least, if only to ascertain whether he really was his father or not. If the older man was indeed his dad... the thought that he'd actively searched for him brought pinpricks to Arcade's eyes and a tightness to his throat.

"I... give me a few minutes to get myself together." He mumbled. His mind was running a mile a minute and his heart was racing even faster.

Julie nodded. "Will do."

"Do you want me to send him in or do you want to come out?"

Arcade was in too turbulent a mindset right now. He couldn't deal with many people on a good day, much less when he feeling so... shaken. In the event the man asking after him was actually his dad, he did not want his coworkers to see him cry if he ended up breaking down. It wasn't guaranteed he would, but he was taking no chances.

After Julie disappeared outside, Arcade began taking a series of long breaths in order to calm himself. They worked slightly to ease the panicked heaving of his lungs while he counted. The trepidation was still there when he finished, but more manageable.

The sound of tent flaps rustling snatched his attention. The old man from earlier walked in and gave him a once-over before smiling. Arcade tried to move, to sit on the edge of his cot because it seemed more appropriate for a first meeting, but his limbs refused to budge. They felt as if they'd been weighed down with lead.

That cold blue eye that seemed so hard before softened as Arcade gaped. His usually quick wit had abandoned him, left him opening and closing his mouth like a fish.

Seeing as Arcade couldn't speak, Israel did. His tone was sad, but held a warmth to it that Arcade had only ever heard come from his mother when directed at him.

"I'm about thirty-five years late with this... but I'm glad to finally meet you, son."

* * *

Feedback is much appreciated! Thank you for reading!


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